


Coffee and Alcohol

by Graytrickster



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Mystery, No Metaverse AU, Romance, Vampire AU, akeshu - Freeform, blood/blood mention, characters are in their early/mid 20s, goro is a vampire, im gonna post smut separately as it comes up/when i write it, im very self indulgent, shuake, so i can keep this as mature and yall can avoid/find the smut as you want, theres gonna be multiple chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graytrickster/pseuds/Graytrickster
Summary: Supernatural and not quite human creatures are among those in society but largely unacknowledged and not within public knowledge. Many strive to live normally in society and go under the radar, hiding these parts of their existence. Goro Akechi is one of these beings, living as a vampire in a world not ready to know of their presence in it. He is a young detective, and has found a case that is testing his abilities as one.One night, he meets Akira Kurusu, a man who knows more than he'll lead on and catches the detective's interest instantly and intimately. The mystery unfolds and every turn seems to pull Akira further into the thick of it, uncovering more of his elusive past.Vampire fuckers come get yall JUICE!!!!





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> WOW ok. So I'm finally publishing this. I'll preface by saying this is completely self indulgent and my reintroduction into creative writing. I'm doing this for fun so I'm trying not to take it too seriously even though I have a legitimate mystery in mind. I don't know how often I'll be publishing chapters but I had a lot of fun writing this out! Feedback is very much appreciated if it can be offered!  
> BIG thanks to my friends who encouraged me and did the beta reading for this fic!! Special thanks to my best friend for being a great editor and my inspiration to write again, and HUGE thanks to my favorite Ann cosplayer for being my hype man and fellow Akechi stan. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

The artificial flush to his skin was never questioned. It was hard to think highly of people when what they feared went unnoticed right under their noses.

Maybe that’s why Goro Akechi was a detective; spotting monsters was easy when you were one.

All it took was a small compact of blush and no one doubted him. It made him resentful, there was little in the world he wasn’t bitter at. Or that could be his foul mood talking. His horrible mood was exceptionally vocal tonight, and it didn’t allow a single pleasant or progressive thought to pass through his aching head.

Goro Akechi was a vampire, one of many who took the title of human and wore the skin of non parasite to live in society. But that wasn’t a rarity, at least not as rare as it should have been, not as uncommon as it had to be for vampires to go unrecognized, unacknowledged by the world, by science, by history. With 7 billion people weighing the planet, even a fraction of a percent being something other than human was a big deal. An entire race of sepitent humanoids, participating and affecting society, its history, its medical advances- playing a part in wars and the peace that ended them. Existing under the rug, a hitch in evolution? Proof of divinity? Of damnation?

A species that had primarily survived on cannibalism, an old wives tale, a long list of horrors that couldn’t afford to exist in the world today. Yet here Goro was. One of many yet to go extinct.

He was hypothetically immortal, theoretically unconquerable, and a break off from human evolution that had failed to play out. A world that could’ve been if the sky was blacked out or the humans dumber. Yet neither of those were true, and a fire that raged the hottest needed the most fuel as to not burn out. Perhaps that’s what Goro and those like him were, evolutionary forest fires, largely unsustainable and dangerous, barely contained and demanding in their presence, in their feeding habits. Physical strength and heightened senses took its payment in the form of difficulty to sustain it, a price paid with blood. 

Everything would be so much easier if the blood shed were just his own. That was an ease of living that Goro went without and envied from the humans he worked a day job to protect. So now Goro was behind on the blood his body demanded.

He even resented the title tacked on to this subset of human and hell that joined together. Vampire. A word born from fears and starving parasites who put feeding above caution. Surely there had to be a more scientifically sound name for it, something that could distance his livelihood from that of capes and turkish accents. 

But that would require it to be taken seriously. That would require the public knowledge of vampires- cannibals first, people second- to not immediately be met with violence. Perhaps there were times politics and science came close, joining hands and preparing the world to receive knowledge that could’ve absolutely shattered it centuries ago. But that wasn’t his world. And Goro wasn’t a scientist, nor was he a politician, not an activist or an eccentric with enough wealth to make impacts that large, that substantial, that risky. He was a detective. A pretty good one, despite how his night was going. 

It was the long night wearing him down, one in a string of many that weighed Goro’s tired mind. A week blurred into itself as he tirelessly scoured for leads in the spike of organized crime that had been leaking through the city. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone without rest for such a duration, it was part of the job, really. Human or not, everyone working with the police was well acquainted with all nighters. Goro knew what kind of lifestyle he was getting into pursuing detective work, he made peace with the sporadic schedule when still the young, protegee detective. Even with the numerous drawbacks his particular breed of human had given him, the perks were undeniable. Long periods of work with minimal requirement of rest, higher tuned senses making things like police scanners and drug dogs next to unused, physical abilities above those of human criminals that would try to make a run for it, the tune of a heartbeat exposing even the most careful lies. There wasn’t a poker face that could beat the hand Goro was dealt. 

That was, until he met Akira.

It this night in Shinjuku, brought to the city of red lights and debauchery with a handful of leads that quickly dried up when pursed, names and faces that evaporated into the night before Goro could hunt them down. Not that anyone cared for his reasons. Everyone here was amongst the neon lights for one reason or another, no matter how unsavory, people kept their head down and didn’t remember faces if it inconvenienced them.

It made investigating difficult, and made prolling under the law just as easy in turn. Even with exhaustion and a prolonged blood fast wearing down Goro from his prime, he was thorough. Falling back on years experience to deal with surface level peddlars was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy. It should have been easy to corner young and stupid first time offenders whose hands shook at the sight of a badge. That’s what was promised to him last interrogation he oversaw. Yet, still nothing. Goro grit his teeth, mulling over how that might have happened. Who could have warned them?

While being far from his last feeding wasn’t ideal, it made his senses sharper and easier to utilize. Just a touch more intimidating where he needed to be, needling through the armor of those who frequented Shinjuku and danced around the blind spots of the law’s eye. Even then, nothing useful, nothing that could give a further suggestion of where to go from here. Goro didn’t get a name he didn’t already know, no connection that hadn’t already been made, no answers that made his unwise absence of blood worthwhile. 

Who was behind this all? Were there other countries involved? Yakuza? How had drugs gotten so far into Shibuya that teenagers could end up with a gram of coke like it was a vape pen. How did it go unnoticed for so long?  
It was infuriating. Even more infuriating that the detective had to withdraw for the night and take the loss. He had asked too many questions to too many people not to be noticed, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for some single brain celled organism with a bat breaking his patience. One antagonization taken too far, one bloody nose, a few dumbfounded witnesses, and the life Goro had carefully built around himself would be gone.

Goro knew letting himself get so upset wasn’t exactly healthy. He knew from the quick glances of passing strangers the scowl he unknowingly wore, too irritated to smooth the lines of his face back down into pleasant neturals. But he had to focus on something other than the limits of his hunger that were fast approaching. Maybe he could hold out for a day longer, at most, if he slept well, if he went through some raw meat in the back of his fridge.

Goro was so caught up in thoughts of provisions that he hadn’t noticed the drunkards heavy, uneven footsteps before he’d plowed into Goro’s side from around the corner. Goro was yanked out of his spiraling thoughts, pulled back to reality too late to catch the inebriated salary man but just in time for him to thud on the ground in front of Goro. Startled and with his guard down, Goro stumbled back. Not from the impact, but from the recoil of his senses being flooded. His mind stalled, slack from fatigue, then restarted in a vicious roar, needling his common sense.

“My fuckin’ nose is bleeding! Asshole can’ watch your goddamn step!” Goro retreated further, realizing just how long he’d been spaced out and dumbfounded at the hefty drunk cursing Goro out in front of him. Blood ran down the mans bright red face and splattered as he yelled profanities at Goro, dripping on the concrete, smeared across the strangers fist as it shook at him, uncoordinated, angry, pathetic-  
This was drawing a crowd. 

The bastardization of the heart beating in Goro’s chest raced in panic, taking one bug eyed look to the people staring at the commotion.  
The smell followed Goro when his eyes were torn away, he could smell the blood as it pulsed and dripped, flying from the drunk’s loud mouth with every alcohol stenched yell. A fang drew, threatening to split his lip as he stood dumbfounded down wind from the thing he’d been denying himself. He hadn’t had time to stomach a cold pack of pigs blood that week, and now that was coming to collect. Goro covered his nose with a gloved hand, he knew he had to take cover. 

He should have stopped to help the man to his feet, throw his weight as a cop around, and send this drunk home with a thinly veiled threat. But if Goro were to keep his cool, if he wanted to keep up the painful illusion, he had to take the cowards way and run, only stopping when he no longer caught drunken slurs in his ear, only when the wind changed and took the smell of blood with it. Undignified and panicked, a vocal part of Goro’s mind degraded the detective for not taking the chance and the blood he needed.

“This is ridiculous.” Goro mumbled, saying something, anything to talk over the mindless savage that lived deep down in Goro’s subconscious.  
Goro didn’t know how far he’d gone, but he knew how that must have looked to passerbys. A young man and a bloody drunk taking swings at his shins. Did he look scared? Guilty? Could it have been taken as an awkward get away from some violent drunk he couldn’t get a word in with?

Did Goro look like a crook? A coward.  
“Damn it…”  
Panic subsided back into the dull ache of frustration, pounding at the back of his skull.

He needed to retreat. To calm down. Be careful as to not get caught up in his thoughts. If he got too engrossed in thinking of that near fatal encounter, then Goro’s legs might just circle him back before he knew what was happening. He took cover into a bar near the station. In Goro’s many years of coping with blood thirst, only two things covered the smell of blood enough to calm his aching gums and dry pallet.

Coffee and alcohol. 

There was no shortage of the latter in Shinjuku, and when the potent stench of alcohol hit Goro full on, it was more sobering than it ever could be for a human. He knew people had a habit of jumping from addiction to addiction, smoking to cope with excessive alcohol, alcohol to cope with excessive smoking, fast food, caffeine, sex.The works. Maybe Goro was just overworked. That must have been universal, right? For all the escapist habits that turned into reports on Goro’s desk, the journey home would always be speckled by the drunken, red faced, yet ultimately harmless salary men. Did Goro just join their ranks? Had he stepped into the world of post work escapism at only 24? 

Coming in here was a gamble.  
It was an impulse move, running in here, but here he was. Goro knew ducking back out would only make him look sketchier than he already did, and the slightest fracture in his reputation could make everything crumble. Goro never made it a habit to frequent bars, not unless there was something interesting about them worth checking out, so he’d never become familiar with the scene and never cared to.  
Either way, Cross Roads was now his salvation. Standing around outside looking like he was off the tail end of an adrenaline rush was not an option. Standing around near the door for too long wasn’t doing Goro any favors, either. He was lingering for longer than appropriate, stewing in the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol, letting it wash away the memory of blood from the back of his throat. Enough to lull Goro into the present tense.

More sobering, though, was the gaze Goro Akechi met when first looking up into the bar. The pale bartender standing behind the counter, grey eyes focused on a glass he was cleaning, neon lights adding a blush of color to his skin, reflecting off silky black hair and large rimmed glasses. There was no doubt those eyes were aimed right for him. An even, unwavering stare that planted Goro to the spot, pulling him from past to present, deafening panicked echos from moments ago. The smell of blood had not followed Goro into the bar, but the aesthetics of Shinjuku bled into every corner of Cross Roads. Lowlights and flashy neon signs adding to the dull warm light. Overstuffed and tacky looking bar stools. Polished counters and booths out of sight, tucked away for easy access to a touch of privacy for guests who wanted it. The drunk middle aged man with his head down at the bar told Goro this wasn’t a host club, even with the eye catching bartender. No weird hairstyle or cheap suit of the hawkers out on the streets. In fact, his appearance was incredibly casual, even plain if spared only a glance.  
This was more than a passing glance.

“Welcome.” The pretty bartender greeted automatically, likely finishing his mental assessment of Goro, deciding if he was a late night stranger that warranted concern.  
The bartender and his captivating eyes came with a smooth voice, tentative hands that worked on a glass and a pretty face he would come to know well.  
And a reminder of Goro’s will testing blood fast.  
He could feel his nails press into his palm, even through the leather fabric of his gloves.  
Fuck.

Usually Goro was good about getting blood, in more or less ethical ways- typically in the form of butchers who didn’t ask questions about his bloody orders of raw meat- but the pick up of gang activity had made Goro devoid of all free time and further spread his name and face across the city. Goro missed the days of being unseen in his hours of hunger, now there were less and less of those. Maybe he’d gotten too good at playing human and had even tricked himself for some time about what he really was.  
He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed a drink. 

Goro followed the direction dark eyes until his feet stopped next to a stool in front of the man tending over the bar.

“Long night?” The pretty bartender asked as Goro slid on to one of the stools. His voice parting from coy looking lips, covering up the senses of Goro’s mind that pried to hear heartbeat and blood pumping, smoothing the chatter in his second nature born of keeping up with appearances. The fair skinned bartender paid no mind to surrounding patrons who smelled like cheap drinks and cheap cologne. Men who didn’t find any luck with the fairer sex that night. Instead, he leaned his elbows on the counter, poised to meet the needs of another customer.

“Unbelievably so.” Goro sighed, looking up at the man across the counter. His expression was unreadable in the lowlights of the bar, punctuating the aura of Shinjuku with neon lights. Goro didn’t bother deciphering anything that could or could not have been crossing the bartender’s mind, turning his thoughts off for just a moment to let his brain rest. Goro enjoyed the red lights flushed in hues of dark eyes and pale skin, drowning in curly black hair and shining off a defined collarbone. Goro always thought the aesthetic of the red light district was a gaudy one, but the bartender standing under the lights the punctuated Shinjuku’s nightlife was… captivating. The sun was going to come up soon and drown out the bright hues that covered nightly misdeeds, but Goro didn’t doubt the man before him would still be stunning by then.  
It was a glimpse to the appeal of host clubs. Goro really must’ve been losing it to be staring like this.

“The only people around here at this hour are John Smiths. You don’t look like one.” The black haired bartender said, pulling Goro out of his lapse of composure. Goro blinked. Was that supposed to be a compliment? The detective’s posture stiffening as he cleared his throat into his fist. What was he doing? Goro needed to get something to sip on. Alcohol in his throat would overwhelm the smells of blood that had driven him to retreat in the first place and hopefully keep him from gawking any further.

“Have we met before? I don’t think you’re a regular, haven’t seen you around before.” The bartender asked. 

“Can’t say we have. I don’t make it a habit of frequenting Shinjuku, let alone so late at night.” Goro decided he’d entertain a conversation. Anything to distract him from the double dose of troubles he’d found himself that night. He looked up, catching the way sharp eyes flickered over his features, pondering. Goro resisted the urge to fix his appearance under that gaze. Surely his hair was a mess. “I’ll tell you where you’ve seen me if I can get a gin and tonic.” Goro offered, delivering it with a plastic smile that was worn away at the edges.

The bartender clicked his tongue, slender fingers abandoning the glass he was polishing. “Deal.” He set the glass down with a small click on the polished counter, giving Goro a new angle to eye up he turned around the prep the drink.  
His neck was pale and pitch black curls brushed against it, curling against the features of his jaw and the rim of his glasses. “My name’s Akira, by the way.” The bartender caught Goro’s wandering eyes as he looked over his shoulder to give his name. “Akira Kurusu, if that jogs your memory.” He smiled, wearing something sly to the quirk of his lip. Relaxed yet knowing, experienced. Goro wouldn’t be surprised if Akira was used to catching men staring. It was Shinjuku afterall.

“Perhaps I’d remember better over a drink.” Goro said, voice pleasant as if he was innocent to looking Akira up and down. Akira seemed entertained by his reply, if that smirk was anything to go off of, turning once again to fix Goro’s drink of choice. He watched Akira’s hands work, glad to finally have a name to the face. There was still the ache in the back of his throat, the impulse to bounce his leg as his bloodless time was sparking a special kind of anxiety. He kept his fidgeting nonexistent, however. Goro had no problem keeping things under the surface, in fact it was his default given his job, but now he was being tested. He didn’t want to take away Akira’s interest in their idle talk by looking jittery.  
He sought to forget, but the flushed lights of Cross Roads on Akira’s pale skin only brought him right around. He faintly wondered if this was a bad idea, but the trouble of being starved meant he’d stop caring about such things.  
Goro’s fidgeting fingers found the hair tie on his wrist and pulled his hair back, tying it away from his face and into something less disheveled. Goro hadn’t gotten a good look at himself but would rather not risk looking like a madman. This was a safe bet, he reasoned out.  
He tied off the last loop while idly wondering how Akira’s hair would run between his fingers instead.

“So,” Akira said, setting the drink down in front of Goro. He leaned on his elbows once again, getting more eye level with the detective who faintly caught reflections of himself in Akira’s glasses. “Tell me why a stranger at last call is giving me deja vu.”

Goro decided it was time to get the upper hand and kept Akira waiting, taking a long sip of his drink as he locked eyes with the man who fixed it for him. Akira quirked a brow, letting the question hang.  
“I’ve been interviewed in a few news shows lately. Nothing glamorous, just being asked about some things going on in the city and what authorities intend to do about it. Public reputations and the like.”

Akira snapped his fingers, nodding as he tried to summon a name to the front of his mind.

“Akechi Goro.” He introduced himself. “I’m a detective. My work has brought me to Shinjuku,” he raised the glass to his lips once more. The smell of alcohol was intense to him, burning down his throat, clearing his nose of the smell of blood that his instincts desperately sought after. His nerves settled now that the primal part of his brain was better ignored.  
But Kurusu was still tantalizing under the red lights, and the way he pushed his glasses back a tucked a strand of black hair behind his ear made Goro’s eyes follow. Dry fangs couldn’t be blamed for wandering eyes. Goro was distantly aware there was a shamelessness to all his looking.

Akira hummed. “Guessing it didn’t go well if you’re here.” He said, pushing off the counter to get back to his job. Goro’s eye twitched at the bluntness. 

The man on the other end of the bar stumbled his way out, leaving a dirtied glass and Goro and Akira to each other’s company.

“Aren’t you perceptive.” Was Goro’s sarcastic confirmation. He watched Akira, eyes fixed on his pretty, rude distraction.

“I have a friend that works with the police. It’s about the gang that’s running all those scams, right? Most times I see her she looks ready to break someone’s arm over it. I thought it was isolated in Shibuya.” Akira elaborated as he went back to clean up. It was late wasn’t it?

“Sorry to say I can’t confirm or deny any of that.” Goro started, not sorry at all. “But it’s not as big a city as you may think. If word of that has reached so many people, imagine what's being done that isn’t talked about.” Goro mused, lips to the rim of his glass. The detective let his mind drift casually back to the case now that he has a pretty face tempering his more stressful thoughts. “You should be careful, you never know what kind of people you’re going to run into at night.” It was a self deprecating joke, but Akira had no way of knowing that. Goro wondered how many other vampires were prowling around at this hour, how many he had passed yet failed to take note of when chasing down dead ends. He’d also faintly wondered if Akira was something other than human, but when the bartender had leaned into Goro’s space, all he smelled was soap lingering on his skin and coffee on his clothes. If Akira was dangerous, it was only in the ways a human could be. Which in Goro’s line of work, proved to be nothing to scoff at.

“Dangerous, huh?” Akira repeated, sounding unconvinced. “Will I get a police escort if I ask nicely?” 

It was so casual that he almost missed it. Goro paused before he could drink again, eyes flickered from the rim of his glass back to Akira, meeting a playful gaze. He couldn’t imagine what kind of looks he’d been giving Akira in his short time there. He came in tired, stressed, and hungry in a way food wouldn’t satisfy, following Akira’s movements and words like he’d been sizing him up. The corner of Akira’s lip curled when a beat passed and Goro had yet to speak, entertained by having caught Goro by surprise. Bluntness had its benefits.

“And what if I’m one of those people you should be afraid of?” Goro replied, loosening his tie from around his neck. He chose those words carefully, wondering if Akira would listen to common sense. If Akira was as clever as he’d been acting, he would understand the caution to Goro’s words. Sure he’d seen Goro on tv, but he had to be a fool to think he would get a glimpse of Goro’s real personality from some daytime news show. They’d only had a few words between them. Yet Goro hadn’t outright shut it down, he didn’t miss the implication of Akira’s words and hadn’t rejected it like Goro did with the others that would proposition him. Akira wasn’t a women, for one, or Goro would have simply downed his drink and left. Those who kept up with his public image would call him a bachelor dedicated to his work, but his disinterest in women ran deeper than that. Perhaps Goro still should leave, if this were to do anything to his reputation… But he stayed in his chair, setting the glass down and giving Akira his full attention as the bartender’s slender fingers undid the apron and slipped it from his frame and setting it someone under the counter.

“Then I’ll ask to see your badge, officer.” Akira replied, sitting on the edge of the counter, making Goro tilt his head up to meet those eyes. There were nothing to clean or people to serve, and Goro had a suspicion that final call came before he set foot in the bar. Akira was just making an exception he shouldn’t have if he were to stay professional, and Goro was doing the same. Goro knew he shouldn’t entertain this, but more importantly than that, he wanted to. He reached into his jacket. An amused smile crossed Akira’s face as Goro complied, slipping it out of his breast pocket. 

“And what if it’s fake?” Goro asked, pulling the wallet of his badge out of Akira’s hand just before it could claim the badge. “With the things people are capable of, faking a police ID wouldn’t be one of the hardest.” He was testing the waters, wondering if Akira knew less than he should’ve or knew far more than he lead on.

“You act like I don’t deal with fake IDs on a regular basis.” He swiped the badge from Goro’s hand. “Or I hadn’t made my own before.” He flipped the badge open as Goro processed what Akira was implying now. 

A smile spread on Goro’s once exhausted features. “Maybe you’re the dangerous one.” He leaned on his elbow, head in hand and now a few inches closer to the thighs that perched in front of him. “Anything else you’d like to confess while I’m here? It could lighten your sentence.” Goro delivered the line with an air of false innocence and a tap on his chin, looking like he was contemplating just what could be done with the former delinquent and his admission of guilt. Akira looked over his badge to squint at its owner.

“Aren’t you off duty.” Akira asked, closing the badge with a neat click.

“A detective’s job is never done. Crime never sleeps, you know.” Goro reaches for his badge, but Akira wasn’t one to easily let up. His hand swept back, past the counter and well out of Goro’s reach. Ah. So that’s how he was going to play it.

“You shouldn’t be drinking on the job. Maybe I’ll report you, how about that?” Akira retorted, cocky smile on that pretty face that made Goro want to wipe it off for him.

“Black mailing an officer of the law? This isn’t looking good for you, Kurusu-san.” He shook his head in faux disapproval. “Whatever shall I do with you…” Goro took the next step in their little dance, hand falling from his face to Akira’s thigh, Goro now slowly rising from his seat. Akira wasn’t the only one who could be bold. The lack of blood that was once far from his mind came rushing back when Akira’s face flushed. The half drank gin was now abandoned off to his side. There were better things Goro could use to distract him from a bad night, and Akira Kurusu, the pretty bartender with the sharp eyes and clever mouth, was offering just that to him.

“Can’t do anything without this.” Akira broke his line of sight by waving the badge in front of his eyes. Goro was more than able to snatch it out of his hand at the very moment, reflexes well beyond that of humans like Akira even on a dry night. But he let Akira pull it away, reaching for it slowly to see where the bartender was taking this. He’d already piqued and maintained Goro’s interest, he wasn’t about to call quits here. “Too slow.” Akira teased. “Never played keep away before? Come on, do better than that.” He waved the badge higher, lowering it just enough for Goro’s second purposefully failed attempt at grabbing it. “How’re you planning on arresting me if you can’t even get your badge back? I think you're the one who shouldn’t be in Shinjuku so late.” He talked to Goro like he was a cat at the end of some string.

“Don’t be so cocky.” There was a bite to Goro’s words that Akira didn’t have time to be surprised by before Goro snatched the badge out of his hand with speed he hadn’t let on to having. Akira’s arm flew back in a last ditch effort to uphold his game of keep away, completely forgetting the way his body was twisted to face Goro on the counter. 

Momentum was not Akira’s friend, and gravity wasn’t too fond of him either. The wide arc of his arm worked to throw Akira off balance, thigh slipping off the edge of the counter, and the only way to go from there was down. Goro was quick, grabbing Akira around the waist before he could plummet to the floor, and before he threatened to knock over anything expensive set up behind him or just under the counter. That was Akira’s priority, and Goro could tell by the way his feet stayed up and close, eyes going wide as he grabbed Goro’s coat, clutching it as his feet gave purchase to the ground. Expensive alcohols were on the line and Goro doubted some after hours flirting was worth his job. He steadied Akira with both arms, badge still held securely. Akira hadn’t expected to be leapt at like that and Goro maybe felt a little responsible for his blunder. Akira was steady, looking down at the ground as if it were to betray him as the counter had seconds ago. It didn’t, and would continue to stay true holding Akira up as long as his balance allowed it, but that knowledge hadn’t taken Akira’s hands off his shoulders. Now Goro was leaning over the counter, locked in place by their hold on eachother. 

He could feel Akira’s heart leap from the scare, smell coffee and cologne from his skin, feel the warmth of his body through the coat. The sigh he breathed on Akira’s neck was no accident, but he’d never admit to that. Akira decided that a polished counter was a willing sacrifice for being behind the bar any longer, seating himself back upon it and swinging his feet to the other side.

“Are you okay?” He asked, locking eyes with Akira again. Akira was bewildered, thrown off his flirtatious rhythm by the tumble he narrowly avoided. He blinked owlishly, skin flushed redder than the lights could hide. He dropped eye contact first to look over his shoulder in concern. Was he embarrassed? Goro smirked, arms taking a relaxed hold on Akira now that he was securely sat back on the counter. He leaned into Akira’s hold. “I think it’s fair to say you’ve been caught.” he gave a mocking squeeze to Akira’s waist. “What happened to the suave thief holding my badge ransom?”

“He got cocky,” but Akira wasn’t done being cocky. He pressed a quick kiss to Goro’s lips, the turning point that made flirting that could be brushed off into clear intentions. Past the point of something Goro could convince himself into brushing off if he wanted to keep a false air of someone too good to be kissing strangers. Here Goro was, pressing his lips flush against those of a coy bartender whose eyes told Goro nothing but the fact Akira could see right through him. That was a quality Goro usually clashed against, but an exception had been made. Goro wasn’t too good for this. He wasn’t too good for most things he pretended to be better than, and there were better distractions than alcohol or coffee. Akira offered the presence and intoxication of both. 

Akira pulled back after getting a good feel for how the detective’s lips felt against his own, hands finding their way to the lapels of Goro’s peacoat.

“Should that escort be to your place or mine?” Goro asked, chasing Akira’s lips down for one more kiss before he got his answer.


	2. Morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two very anxious vampires and their place in Akira's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEWWO its been 2 months b u t here it is! Chapter 2! I hope you like it!  
> And i hope the formatting turns out okay ow o;;

Goro woke up feeling amazing.  
So immediately something was amiss. 

Light slipped into the room, sneaking between skewed curtains that stood guard against the sun, spilling across the bedroom in a narrow stream. Shining in the sleeping face of Goro Akechi after inching its way across his bed frame as the morning passed into noon. Illuminating his eyelids and a small view of the mess of sheets around him.  
Waking up was always a hassle when conforming to the daytime schedule his work required. He wasn’t meant to live in the day, not meant to be around people or fill his time solving cases to fix an irreparable human society. Yet even with the sun passing through his eyelids and a restless week in front of him, Goro woke up gently. Not pulled from rest by a blaring alarm or a never ending discomfort in the back of his throat. One that turned from a dry itch successfully suppressed by a cough drop to a full on searing desperation that medicine couldn’t answer for. 

The last few days were especially difficult. Work had consumed him and his common sense, trying to meet the more than human demand that was piled on him with the increase of crime and public unrest surrounding unchecked gang activity. It left Goro’s health neglected for longer than anticipated, and it had him feeling close to the brink of ferality. Waking in bouts of extreme thirst that made Goro’s throat feel like something was clawing up it, desperately trying to escape Goro’s carefully kept limitations, picking away his discipline piece by piece. Joints that ached, a head that pounded and fangs that threatened to pierce through his lips when he wasn’t paying attention, allowing them to escape his jaw. The rejuvenation of March and the life it breathed back into the city had completely skipped over Goro, who had been locked in the gray slush of late winter ever since taking on the increased cases.

But now the pain in the back of his throat was gone. His eyes weren’t dry and fangs weren’t threatening to pierce a hole through his tongue. He didn’t wake up with a tension headache and was able to enjoy the brief moments of cluelessness that was found between consciousness and waking up. He sat up, sheets sliding off his nude and flushed form. Goro stretched his arms out, tension uncoiled in his back as if it’d never been there to fuck up his posture in the first place. Goro craned his neck side to side, producing a satisfying crack, an unravelling of stiffness. The spring sun snuck warmth into his room and for the first time in a week, Goro felt as if he could breath.

The soft lull into the day was equal parts welcomed, yet unexpected. It felt wrong. Goro would wake up feeling like an intruder to the world, one that combated his participation within it with hard mornings, difficult sleep and fruitless rest. He’d begun developing a habit of waking up past the headache, past the thirst that only allowed for fitful bouts of sleep. The waking and the sleeping world both struggling to get rid of Goro, to push him off to one another. For this reason, the detective had avoided going to bed as long as possible, worsening his sleep schedule and feeding it into a self fulfilling cycle of unrest and fatigue. Coffee could only do so much, and he’d just reached the extent of its help the night before.

Now he was welcomed to day by a kind carting off from sleep, waking up from a dream that smelled like coffee and warmth. No pools of blood had swarmed his sleeping subconscious, no gore or drained prey whose split necks filled the cracks in pavement with streams of blood. Just a cup of coffee served by pale hands that guided Goro as a welcomed guest to the waking world once the dream had tapered off. A perfume that lingered in his bed and followed Goro into his sleep.  
Pale hands. Soft lips. A quiet voice that held a magnetic presence, that Goro’s name had spilled from, where a breath brushed the shell of his ear. Akira.  
Goro’s mind finally centered back to reality, eyes snapping open and alert. He was in bed alone.

Akira. The man he has taken home last night. A pretty bartender with a smart mouth who slipped through his defenses and landed squarely in the fatigued detectives arms. Goro turned his eyes from the light obstructing his vision, a hand patting where Akira had been laid out in satisfied exhaustion, checking as if a ghost may have inhabited half his bed.  
When his eyes adjusted, Goro received confirmation that it hadn’t just been a fever dream, that Akira and his lingering presence wasn’t something spun together from his lonely mind, a snap of the final threads of sanity coming to Goro as a hallucination of a beautiful man.  
Akira himself was not in the bed, but clear evidence of his presence from the night was left. It smelled like him. It smelled like sex. Goro’s fingers found sweat damp ruffled sheets, a stray black hair and, most dauntingly, a spot of blood on the pillow case, drying into a deep red against the white case.

The slow and ignorant bliss of sleep shattered.  
Goro snatched up the pillow as if getting a closer look would change what he already knew. Some time during his night with Akira, he had gotten carried away in heated kissed and small bites to Akira’s skin, the opportunist fangs had spiked their way into Akira’s pale neck when passion disguised his fangs presence from Goro’s mind.

Blood. The cure for his starvation pains and the cause of an entirely new set of problems. There was no use playing dumb with himself. He bit Akira, let his lust take the better of him and brought a human into his home. One who could now ruin Goro and his carefully disguised life if he talked to the right people.

He wanted to deny it for a second, but Goro felt he had life breathed into every part him, invigoration that only came from a feeding, a fresh feeding. Not from a plastic bag warmed in a pot of water, not from an animal whose slaughter would go without question or concern, but from a live human, one of the worst and final mistakes a vampire could make if they weren’t careful. And Goro was always careful. He was careful until last night. Careful until he’d recklessly brought a pretty man from shinjuku home like some common manwhore. He clutched the pillow, flushed face contorting into a scowl. 

“Damn it…!” His anger only boiled more at the fact the pillow he’d pushed Akira’s face down into the night before smelled just like him. That it had the gall to follow Goro into his dreams. The only bodily evidence Akira had been in his bed before was a spot of blood on his pillow and a tied off condom in the trash. His eyes darted to the alarm clock on his nightstand. 12:04pm. How did he sleep that long? Goro sprung out of bed, surprising even himself with how fast he was moving, body before mind as if that wasn’t what got him in this mess in the first place. He smelled coffee from the kitchen, knowing the chance of Akira still being in his home were slim but following it anyway. He hadn’t known Akira long but was sure he was cocky enough to try something like that if he were planning to blackmail Goro. It was a thought he dreaded but not a possibility he could leave out if Akira knew.

Covering himself wasn’t even a forethought before he took off out of the bedroom, following the smell that trailed behind Akira’s presence like a shadow.  
The trek from his bedroom to the kitchen was quick and yielded to none of Goro’s concerns.  
Just as he expected, Akira was gone. He’d stormed into his kitchen naked for nothing. He’d at least traced back the smell of coffee to a lone mug ditched in his sink. So Akira did linger, huh? Okay. That much meant he wasn’t scared of Goro, no sane man would drag their feet if he thought his life on the line. And if Akira wasn’t scared, what did that mean? The idea of being blackmailed was in the front of his mind, creeping in like a headache. 

He knew there was a narcotic like compound produced in vampire saliva during feeding, but surely that wasn’t enough to completely miss the fact he was being fed on.  
...Was Akira into that kind of thing? They were rough. They were rough upon Akira’s prompting, and Goro was delighted to indulge a pretty masochist- But drawing blood wasn't something a normal person would do. Not without a long talk and a few safety measures. It’s not something Goro would do if he didn’t need to. Goro’s mind buzzed with paranoia as he let himself be carried to the kitchen, his replenished energy making him feel weightless and move with ease he’d taken for granted prior, taking a glance over what else Akira had touched. 

The single cup coffee maker, obviously. He’d even been so kind as to throw out the capsule after use, that sitting at the top of Goro’s trash. The packets of sugar were undisturbed and- well this was a rude time to find out his milk had long since expired. Even ruder the fact that Goro felt embarrassment creep up on him at the thought of being caught with a sparse fridge and sour milk. Hopefully Akira just took his coffee black and hadn’t noticed-  
Goro closed the fridge. why did he care? It was a one night stand at best, and at worst? Well. It was hard to narrow down a single worst case scenario. Goro shook his head to himself. If he let himself get carried away in paranoia now, he’d see no end to it. Maybe he should eat something. Food was an annoying necessity that at least couldn’t get Goro written off as a Victorian aged nightmare.

Naturally, the rest of his granola was gone. His pricey granola. One with maple, almonds, and his at home comfort food. One he’d actually made time to pick up during the week so he could have some kind of fuel. Alright, fair enough. Eat his expensive granola. Goro would be mad if he hadn’t literally bled Akira last night.  
….Alright maybe he was a little mad regardless of its justifiability. Goro frowned, adrenaline dying down in his blood or whatever bastardization of it was running through his veins. The novelty of being annoyed at something as simple as this wore away his grander sense of anxiety.

Perhaps it was just a regular one night stand. The bite aside, was it really so abnormal for two people to go home together from a bar? He tapped the counter, hand going for the pen he’d kept close by as he glanced once again at the empty jar, a few dried pieces of oats at the bottom, taunting the overthinking detective. An overthinking detective. Hah. And it was his job to overanalysis. What an accomplishment that was… he couldn’t even blame his anxiety on his training. His schooling and on field work made it clear that drawing conclusions too quickly could skew one’s view of the investigation, making people miss obvious things or take on a confirmation bias. That’s what he was doing now, wasn’t it? 

Goro wondered if he’d ever see Akira again. 

That was answered quickly as he went to make his short grocery list, discovering his pen was on the right side of the pad, left hand grabbing at nothing. This had turned out to be one of the obvious things Goro missed. 

He came face to face with the note Akira left on his kitchens pad. Well. It wasn’t a note. There weren’t any instructions for Goro to follow or threats of exposure. It was barely even a message. Just a set of digits making up Akira’s phone number, a quickly drawn star off to the corner of that, and the words ‘call me’ under in neat handwriting. A pair of glasses with a glint doodled next to those words, as if Goro could have forgotten who he’d slept with.

His suspicions rose again before it could be checked. Who was Akira and what did he want from him?  
There was only one way to find out… No. Wait. He was overthinking it again, wasn’t he? If the bite to his neck hasn't altered Akira of anything, then the level of intensity Goro had reflexively responded with would. 

Goro frowned, tossing the pen aside and squinting his eyes shut. He almost wanted to have a headache. At least that way he could forget that Akira was the source of his newly repaired health. How much did he have to worry about this? What amount of caution was acceptable and when would it teeter off straight into counterproductive paranoia. Being that worried had already made him miss that little note and its cute doodles. 

It wasn’t the last thing Goro missed on first glance, however. Sitting in the spot near the door, haphazardly discarded for the difficulty it gave in accessing his nightly guests lips, were Akira’s glasses. They reflected the dull blue light that shined from Goro’s microwave clock, the only light allowed in with the pitch dark curtains that saved Goro from his light sensitivity. They hadn’t been opened in days. 

Goro approached the discarded glasses, picking them up as the time changed in the reflection of the glass.

No, not glass. Plastic.

Akira wore fake glasses. Why? He remembered the piercing stare Goro had been met with when sitting across from Akira, a weighted gaze that shone like it could see right through Goro and the charade he put up. He had no reason to fear Akira knew anything, no reason to suspect they’d met before last night. He would’ve remembered eyes like Akira’s. Eyes that could harvest secrets. It gnawed at Goro’s mind too much for him to brush off, and his gut feeling wouldn’t be easily settled.

He left the fake glasses on his counter, going for the pad that had Akira’s number written on it, scanning over the digits once more to dedicate to memory.

Goro would give him that call. If anything, it was just to sedate his worry.  
If there was nothing to worry about, then… maybe another fun night. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You got to stop worrying.”

“It’s my job to worry about the citizens of Tokyo.”

“Akira’s like a cat. He’ll come home when he gets hungry. Isn’t that right, Morgana?” Ann scratched behind Morgana’s ear, getting a soft meow in agreement from the tuxedo cat. At least that’s how Ann interpreted it, gushing nonsensically as she rubbed his head. “That’s right, Mona-Mona, just like you with your wet food, mwah,” she kissed the top of the cat’s head. 

Makoto envied Ann’s relaxed outlook on their friend. Perhaps it wasn’t because Ann was laxed. Perhaps it was because she was confident in Akira’s ability to handle himself. Once upon a time, Makoto was the same. Confident in the risks her friend took in high school, unconcerned with his frequent use of lock picking to get them to the roof, skirting cameras and detection when getting up to less than favorable methods of dealing with things like horrible teachers and unsavory students. Akira had seemed untouchable then. Like a phantom. She had thought so about him ever since she thought she’d seen him go through a wall only to realize the window was open and Akira was concerningly agile. 

But ever since she started working in the field as a cop, her concern only grew for those around her. Makoto started young, second year of university, with dazzling grades and recommendations from those around her. The third youngest in her departments history to enter the force. She was always one of the youngest around, and someone who experienced the darkness of Tokyo at that youth as well. 

To accomplish her goal of becoming Police Chief, she had to experience rapid upward mobility, and while long nights and paperwork weren’t foreign to her, the violence was alien to her everyday life. Nothing prepared her for the things she had seen when being called in, videos and books only doing so much to steel her nerves to the face of domestic violence, robberies, assaults, weapon violence and random jumps by gangs who wanted someone to hurt. She’d talk to grieving family and friends, teary eyed victims who had been alone in the world, women who panicked when Makoto’s male coworkers stepped near them and would only calm down enough to give statements with long talks of reassurance. Makoto had seen the dark parts of humanity and those adjacent to humans. It haunted her often. 

No one was immune to random acts of violence, to the opportunist assailant. The facade of invulnerability Akira shrouded himself in had fallen from her eyes. Perhaps she’d only seen it there because she had depended on him as a source of stability during the difficult last year of her high school career. Now she saw how self preservation had sparesely been in Akira’s concern.

But Makoto didn’t experience the same physical vulnerabilities that most of those working beside her did, nor did she experience the apathetic or twisted outlook on humans most of those born like her did, born as a vampire. It was an odd mix, stuck between the physiology of a vampire and the morality of a human. Something her sister raised her into and something her father, for the brief moments their lives overlapped, was proud of. Physical attacks, drugs, knives, bullets, exhaustion, darkness, far falls, human limitations- they weren’t things Makoto was victim to. This weighed on her, shouldering Makoto with a sense of responsibility and a lineage of justice surpassing supernatural divides. Not succumbing to typical prideful montras of vampires that isolated themselves from the rest of the world, the waking world, to justify acts of depravity and cruelty. 

Partly because everybody who took action in despicable practices had an identical excuse for it. Vampires weren’t unique in their grievances or their excuses. It made Makoto feel closer to the humanity she was raised in, the humanity she protected and that nurtured inside of herself and all beings if given the chance to grow. But rarely was humanity something that wasn’t ceaselessly repressed.  
The irrefutable violence of the world? These facts never sat easily in her chest. 

But that didn’t mean it had to haunt Ann, too. Ann, blissfully human and beautifully righteous. Kind. Empathetic. Makoto’s fingers combed through Ann’s curly blonde hair, looking down at the women who’s head rested in her lap. To make Ann feel her worry, she would have to make Ann understand just how fragile her life was. Just how quickly people were robbed of it, how anyone could simply not come home after an inexplicably normal day. That Akira’s reliability was limited to human wounds and random violence. Makoto did make it her job to worry. And she was good at her job.

Makoto’s thoughts rang in her mind and displayed it’s agonizing contents across her dark eyes, all for Ann to see. 

“Hey…” Ann reached up, caressing Makoto’s cheek. Makoto hadn’t noticed the tension in her jaw until Ann touched it. She forced it to relax under her fingers. “He’ll be alright, alright? If something happened, we’d be the first to hear about it. Emergency contacts, remember?” Ann reminded as her soft hand soothed Makoto. Makoto leaned her cheek into Ann’s hand, eyes softening and mind coming to a rest. Ann smiled gently, showing more wisdom in her expression than most would give Ann credit for. To write Ann off as an airhead was to discredit the pain they’d both went through when they were younger. To distrust Ann’s intuition was to disregard the things Ann had done that brought happiness into Makoto’s life.

Makoto sighed, cool breath tracing over Ann’s wrist. “Okay.” She said, her hand covering Ann’s. No matter how far or how fast Makoto’s mind raced, Ann was there to ground her to the moment, to make her think outside of gruesome statistics and enjoy the life the two built together. Makoto stood firm in knowing her concerns were justified, but living life confined to anxiety was no life at all. 

Morgana pawed at their hands, upset that Ann’s attention and pets were diverted away from him. 

“Stop stealing my girlfriend.” Makoto said, offering Morgana a scratch to the chin for his troubles. 

“If he steals my heart, does that mean Morgana’s a cat burglar?” It wasn’t the first or last time Ann would make a cat burglar joke, but it always managed to get a snort laugh from Makoto. “Arrest him.” Ann said with a grin, holding Morgana up under his front legs so his paws would touch Makoto’s face. And everything felt okay. 

Akira was lucky he walked in on Makoto in such a good mood. She’d been so captivated with Ann that she had missed the telltale sound of keys in the door. It was usually her only warning of Akira approaching, he possessed an unsettling quality of light steps and soundless motion, more than once making Makoto think she’d seen a ghost when it was just Akira lingering late into the night because of his horrible sleep schedule and odd hour jobs.

Being reminded of his ability to escape her heightened senses didn’t make his form in her peripheral any easier to bare. She hoped she was seeing things, but when Makoto got a proper eyeful of Akira’s disheveled clothes, bruised skin, hair an absolute mess and glasses clearly missing from his face. He looked tired, a little hurt, and the calm rushed out of Makoto like a wave. He looked like he lost a fight.

“Akira!” 

“Whoa-ho-hoooa! Look at you!” Ann laughed, completely clashing against the serious situation this was.

“Ann!” 

“What??” Ann sat up as Morgana scampered off to Akira, meowing at him, likely gearing to jump on to Akira’s shoulder as soon as possible. It was his favorite vantage point.

“What do you mean what? Akira, what happened-“ Makoto started up again.

“Who was it?” Ann interjected. 

“Some guy from the bar.” Akira replied simply, picking up Morgana before he could claw his way up Akira’s pants.

“So you saw his face?” Makoto asked, standing up from the couch and taking a few powerful strides over to the coat hanger, yanking her leather jacket from it and slipping it on. “We’ll go to the station right now. Did you get a name? What about cameras-“

“Makoto.” Akira cut in. She was about to work herself into a fury with how relaxed Ann and Akira were about him being attacked.

“It was just a hookup.” Akira said, arms open for Morgana who leapt up onto his shoulder casually, also able to read the room better than Makoto was.

Oh.  
Makoto’s adrenaline stopped abruptly, hands falling from her jacket as she was about to zip it up. She straightened it out instead, hands idle and cheeks flushed. She’d been wound up like a spring and just snapped. Her shoulders slacked, shifting from foot to foot to work out the sternness in her posture. Ann gave her an unimpressed look, bringing Makoto’s gaze back down to the floor. Back to her panda pajamas. She was about to run out the door in them. 

“...Did you use protection.”

“Makoto, oh my god.” Ann said, completely exasperated by the personal question. 

“Yes.” Akira replied simply. Probably because he knew it’d make her feel better. “Any and all manhandling was enthusiastically asked for, officer. Would you like a manuscript?” 

“That’s not necessary.” She scoffed, squaring her shoulders up once again. “What is, however, is not letting your phone die. Things have been dangerous around here lately, especially in shinjuku. You have to be careful.” She scolded, the edge taken off her voice from embarrassment. She gave him a pointed look, noticing now how he was roughed up and how it was… more salacious than she’d assumed from at first glance. 

He put Morgana down, letting the cat run off to Ann so he could put his coat away, giving him time to avoid answering to Makoto. Ann had at least let it slide with a simple sigh, walking past the two to get to the kitchen, to fill up the food bowl Morgana had been bugging them about.

Akira tugged on the collar of his shirt under her gaze, twirling his hair as he tried to not meet it. Akira must’ve just noticed his glasses were gone. He was never one to break eye contact.  
The nervous tug of his shirt revealed something else, though.  
Something that brought a slow boil of concern up and clenched her jaw. The smell of something- someone distantly familiar rolled off of Akira. But how, but who?

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I slept with a cop?” Akira asked, trying to pass off her concerns with a joke. He noticed where her eyes were landing after Makoto’s response hadn’t come immediately. Beyond the hickies, love bites and messy hair came a distinctive mark that went past the typical one night stand. A pair of puncture holes a short distance from one another, scabbed over.  
A bite mark similar to the ones Makoto would leave on Ann in their more intimate moments. When things were heated, when Makoto needed to feed, a mark she could clock from a mile away because she’d been leaving them on her blood meals her entire life. 

Akira had bed a vampire. And by the looks given back of her accusing gaze, he wasn’t making a big deal out of it. Simply pulled his collar up and rubbed over the spot where Makoto’s eyes had landed. Now that seemed to bring some humility back to Akira.

“I know.” He said, rolling his head to the right side, the side of his neck with just normal bites instead of blood drinker ones. Akira knew of vampires, he’d known for a long time, they were close friends after all. But not all of them were like Makoto, most weren’t, and that’s what made him entertaining one for a night dangerous. To have one feed off of him, was he crazy? Suicidal? Careless? Cocky?

Before she could think of the right question to ask, the right details to get, the right worries to follow that didn’t make Makoto a complete hypocrite, he had left to join Ann, cutting their conversation off at that, leaving Makoto in the living room with her concerns and panda pajamas work jacket combo. Something told her she wouldn’t get anything else out of Akira.

So she’d just find out herself. And with what he’d said, with what she knew, her primary suspect was too close to her working life for comfort.

But it couldn’t be that easy, right? Tokyo was a big city. Her nose could have been off on the smell. There were a lot of cops out there. Maybe Akira had been joking about sleeping with a cop. Right? That was just his dry humor, a probe at his distrust of authority, surely it couldn’t have been THAT coworker. What were the chances?

“Sooooo what was he like?” Ann asked, all too excited to start gossiping.

“Smug.” Akira said with all the satisfied fondness a freshly laid man could have.

Jesus Christ it WAS Goro Akechi, wasn’t it.


	3. Green Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections and eccentrics. Goro Akechi finds himself in a green room, waiting on an interview, reflecting over his past as the Detective Prince and and the regrets he holds. 6 years later and back at the start, that's what it seems. There he meets an interesting woman in an odd way. 
> 
> Is it a small world or is it fate. Perhaps something else just as cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, it's been like 4 months. Yeah. This summer completely kicked my ass and now I'm just starting to pick up the pieces again, so sorry about the delay. Been dealing with a deaths and stuff. Hope you like this chapter, it's longer than what I'm used to writing.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @Gray_panic, if you care to.
> 
> Also transman Naoto Shirogane is my own personal headcanon so shaka

~~~~

A silver lining to his night with Akira was the fact Goro didn’t need to put on any makeup when showing up for his daytime news interview. Feeding off Akira meant his skin was glowing and didn’t hold a hint of exhaustion, allowing the detective to skip packing on powders and creams in a feverish attempt to be presentable for the cameras. That was something Goro didn’t miss from his teenage Detective Prince days.

 

There was a lot he didn’t miss from those days.

 

Never thought he’d be going back to it, either. Even so, life had a way of digging up his past, cycling him through familiar pain. So here he sat, in the green room, hair tied back and being told to work up the charm. But not for personal reasons, not to chase fame or its substitute love. He was here for work. 

 

Public relations between police and the people had been worsening over the weeks. Rumors running rampant online, any leads to the increase in organized crime coming to a dead end because witnesses became increasingly uncooperative, and even a call for vigilante justice began seeping into the public sphere of influence. 

 

It was getting bad. So Police Captain Naoto Shirogane, the original Detective Prince, the man he’d mentored under for his university years, shouldered him with the task of public relations damage control. Ultimately, Goro Akechi was the only member of the police with television experience. The only one who might spark a resurgence of popularity with the police force. 

 

The only one who didn’t have anything more important to be doing- he wasn’t on the case that had the people so worried after all. Not that those interviewing him knew that. 

 

To his credit, Captain Shirogane hadn’t been enthused about giving Goro this task. As the first Detective Prince, he knew what kind of trouble the media could give a person. Captain Shirogane had barely ducked out of the public eye before him being a transman became public knowledge. 

 

While it was a great way to propel ones career and a unique experience Goro couldn’t bring himself to fully resent, he was far less eager to be a public personality now than he was back then. Manpower was spread as thin as his irritated smiles when given questions relating to his personal life rather than the goings on of the police. But he had been barred from the case, and this was how he could help. It wasn’t easy to swallow the fact he was forbidden from working on the investigation officially, and then to act as a personality rather than a cop was rubbing salt into that wound. It wasn’t something easy for Goro to accept. 

 

Now more than ever the respect of his peers mattered. Now more than ever did those overworked peers want to find someone to taunt in order to work out their frustrations at the state of crime. And if Goro got asked about pancakes one more fucking time, he might just up and lose it. 

 

It was causing a strain in his work relations as well. Few people knew why Goro had been barred from working on the case and fewer had patience for it. That kind of thing was easier to curb when he was 18 and fresh faced, just a kid in the eyes of his coworkers who played bootlicker to the media with not much going on. Now he was 24. Now he had peers. Now he had a crumbling workplace reputation. 

 

So far the most popular speculation was that the former Detective Prince was playing favorites with the current one, keeping his apprentice cozy and coddled. While untrue, Goro had to bite his tongue. 

 

The young man had a lot of secrets. 

 

While Goro had been good about keeping his work life uncomplicated by them, that had changed when he was 18. The current surge of crime was caused by a drug that Goro wasn’t a stranger to. 

 

Gold Blood. He had investigated it once before, when he was younger, and nearly lost his life because he was getting too close. Now being too close was why Captain Shirogane had kept him off the case. Even with physical capabilities that were subhuman yet superior, Goro had nearly been killed by a man pumped full of GB and told to get rid of the detective that had been snooping around on his own time, that somehow found himself too close to the source.

 

Goro’s assailant hadn’t left that alleyway alive. And thus, the Detective Prince was forced into retirement, for how could he explain taking down a hopped up former Olympic athlete by himself, unarmed, and have anyone buy he was either sober or human. 

 

Now double that doubt when adding the fact Goro’s leg had been broken moments before the man was on the ground, blood leaving his nose and life leaving his eyes.

 

The official report stated that Suguru Kamoshida had suffered a heart attack brought about by the copious amount of illegal stimuli in his system, causing the newly disgraced teacher to fall over and break his neck on a bike rack within the alley. Goro’s survival was a miracle. An act of fate, of divine intervention.

 

Goro had snapped that man's neck himself. 

 

Sae had that covered up. Shirogane, too. Why? Goro couldn’t understand any reason beyond guilt, remorse for not being watchful of someone younger and new to a dangerous world of crime investigation. Perhaps Sae was watching out for herself as well, covering the existence of a fellow inhuman being. And maybe Shirogane had felt responsible for Goro’s near fatality as the new Captain, as a founder of a legacy, as the encourager of Goro’s ambition. Goro was certain that the cover up only brought a new layer of shame to his superiors, one as permanent as the blood on the young detectives hands. Acting illegally for his sake. And for what?

 

Goro picked his shoulders back up. He didn’t need to be slouching.

 

It had only taken two weeks for his images to stop surfacing in media circles. Gone from reruns, magazines, tabloids, blogs. At the time, Goro had been thankful in the fact he didn’t have to see his own face when recovering. But he hadn’t expected to be forgotten so fast. For all Goro knew, he could have disappeared from the world entirely, and his sudden absence wouldn’t have been treated any differently. There wasn’t his death to capitalize on, so who’d bother questioning why he was gone?

 

Goro couldn’t believe himself for eating up all the attention in the first place. No wonder celebrities were such fucking nutjobs. The attention was addicting and its fickle heart caused withdraw in those who had basked in their 15 minutes of fame thinking the spotlight would shine forever. The limelight was warm and blinding, stunning to experience and stunning his better judgement. Keeping him docile to the fact his personhood was yet another trend to exploit. 

 

Exploited. Yeah. He hadn’t been adored. He hadn’t been admired. He’d been exploited. Just another gimmick in the short memory of the public, completely forgotten when his attack hadn’t been public knowledge and his recovery not interesting enough to write a tabloid on. Goro never wanted to be so easily fooled again. 

 

Sitting in the waiting room backstage felt like visiting a past life filled with nothing but naivety and regret. He was young and drunk off praise he’d never gotten before. Thrived off of media attention, using it as a primary source of validation for his work rather than the completion of the cases and the justice that could be served because of it. 

 

Justice was a pretty word that got dressed up the same way he used to. Easy to hear, easy to talk about, hard to understand, harder to accept its faults, harder to be patient and hardest to trust its arrival. Maybe Goro never trusted it. This bitter wisdom a side effect of trauma, of mistakes, and all the hurt in the world couldn’t have given a child the tools necessary to refine it alone. 

 

Sitting here was revisiting another life. A lonelier one. Goro didn’t realize how deep it cut until he experienced it yet again.

 

Detective Prince, officially out of retirement. That was the title of the segment he would be on. Even when so desperately undermanned, Goro Akechi was to act more as a spokesperson than a detective.

 

Simply a passing fancy resparked. All he had done was dip out of the media and turn down all interviews following a deadly encounter. It had prompted Captain Shirogane to be more serious about the mentorship.

 

While he respected his captain, and perhaps even loved him and the Captains husband as a family Goro never had; there was always that little voice telling Goro that the only thing prompting care from the adults around him was the fact that their negligence had almost cost Goro his life. It was a gap he could never bridge with Shirogane. Concern and pity, care and guilt. Admiration and jealousy, gratitude and resentment. All of these existing at the same time in his relationship with the Captain. 

 

‘Thank you for taking this up. You’ll do great, Goro-kun.’ Read the text from his Captain. Goro didn’t bother responding. He knew Shirogane knew that his ‘retirement’ would be questioned.  Goro had spent an hour mentally preparing himself to speak of it, figuring out how to spin it into a sympathetic story to pull in support for police without divulging any details of what really happened. Goro settled on saying he’d wanted to focus on his studies after obtaining an injury from cycling, and just never bothered to break back into media post recovery. It didn’t used to take so long, but Goro was out of practice and had a lot on his mind.

 

The interviews he had done before this one were simply speaking on behalf of the police, putting himself between his exhausted coworkers and reporters. But he’d gotten too used to intercepting questions and cameras, and once again caught the media’s eyes. When the TV station had first reached out about an interview, a personal interview, Goro had turned them down. Only to call back and accept their invitation when Captain Shirogane had encouraged it and the opportunity it offered to reinstate the public’s confidence in the police.

 

It was different this time. Goro was using them for their pull on public opinion, he was older and had an agenda and they weren’t using him for views without getting Goro something in return.

 

At least that’s what the jaded young man was telling himself.

 

At least now he had other things on his mind than the case he was barred from working and the media networks grabbing at him while his resurfacing was still fresh meat.

 

Like the number he was staring down at right now. Not even 24 hours after waking up to Akira’s phone number written down for his convenience, Goro was here. He wondered if Akira would see him on TV. If he would say anything online. If he’d even be awake early enough to catch it. Doubtful, given what little he knew of Akira’s schedule, and something about that man told Goro he knew how to keep a secret. Perhaps it was the fact he was a bartender in Shinjuku who had no problem poking fun at a police officer that came in. Goro would love to be pursuing that knowledge rather than sitting here. That would at least be fun.

 

Goro still had some time before his interview, maybe...

 

His thumb lingering over the message button on Akira’s contact when an artificial shutter paired with a flash of light that spilled across Goro’s face, halting Goro when he had just worked up the nerve. 

 

His head snapped up to see a blonde woman looking rightfully mortified, frozen with her pink phone in hand, blatantly pointing it at Goro. He was used to having his picture taken without consent, but it was rare to come from another person waiting in the green room. Especially one who was so obviously a celebrity with her flashy beauty, exceptional outfit and face plastered on the magazines across the table between them. She had been here before Goro and aside from a polite greeting, they’d taken to ignoring one another. Until this moment. 

 

Goro was not in the mood. 

 

“It’s impolite to take pictures of people without their permission, Takamaki-san.” Goro voiced with a flourish of his best TV smile, tone laced with a generous amount of malice. Takamaki’s face blew up in startle, like a student called out by a teacher for using their phone in class. It was very unlike the composed, fierce impression given by the photos splayed across magazines, where Goro had gotten her name from in the first place. He’d seen them when first entering and made note that the woman in the room was the same as on the cover, deciding it might be odd to read about a stranger when seated in the same room as them. 

 

Turns out Goro wasn’t the one who made things weird. 

 

“Ahahahaa, oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to uh, sorry-” She fumbled with her phone, the device slipping from her fingers, being caught and dropped again a total of three times before it finally landed on the carpeted floor, face down with a wince from Takamaki. 

 

“Didn’t mean to what? It seemed perfectly intentional to me.” Goro pressed on, hands folded in his lap with a faux politeness. Takamaki finally got her nails under the phone, shoving it back into her stylish red purse. “Were you planning on posting that photo to social media, Takamaki-san? I feel I deserve an honest answer after such an adjournment of decency.”

 

“No! No, no, nonono, it’s totally not like that!” She blurted out in a panic, waving her perfectly manicured hands around. Goro was thoroughly unimpressed and even less inclined to believe her. He turned to face her directly, nails drumming on his knee. 

 

“If you’re lying, I’ll have to bring it up to the staff here. I’m sure they don’t want guests who can't respect one another causing trouble in their studio. There’s standards to uphold, afterall, I’m sure you understand.” He said with a frighteningly jovial smile. Did models not have better things to do?

 

“No, you totally got it all wrong, I can barely get on the wifi in here- I was sending it to a friend!!” She exclaimed.

 

“A friend? I didn’t think I was well known enough to be a topic of discussion amongst celebrities.” He said, pulling up his phone. Sure enough, the wifi was slow, but not impossible, and Goro was quick. “I assume you wouldn’t have time to purge it from your story if you’re being honest.” He idly scrolled through instagram, immune to her pleading for getting caught red handed.

 

“Do you know a guy named Akira!” That couldn’t be ignored.

 

Goro stopped short. He looked up at her once more, his harsh demeanor slipping into something of a cautious curiosity.

 

“Akira is a common name. You’ll have to be more specific if I’m going to know who you’re talking about.” He said, turning off the screen to his phone. Ann had his attention and talked with her hands to try and contain it.

 

“Okay! So like- Akira Kurusu? Uh, black hair, real fluffy?” She described, as if his prompting made her forget how to speak the most basic details. That alone was enough for Goro to know it was that Akira, but his stunned silence made her keep rambling. “Llllike yay tall? Glasses? Lanky? Um um um,” She snapped her fingers as if playing 20 questions. “Huge twink!”

 

That snapped Goro out of it.

 

“I… know of him.” Goro said, shifting in his seat. His encounter with Akira was already coming back to bite him, huh? If a model knew, who else did he talk to? Goro must have misjudged him. How disappointing. “How do you know him?” 

 

“Me?? I’m his roommate! We’ve been besties since like high school!” Ann beamed, sensing she was out of the red with Goro’s irritation. 

Oh. “He came home yesterday messed UP.” She continued. OH. “And so I was like, Akira! What happened! You know ‘cause he had bruises like- oh psh yeah you’d know, haha- Akechi??”

 

Goro had covered his burning face with both hands. Ann had a habit of divulging too much when she was nervous, didn’t she? 

 

“Did I get the wrong Goro Akechi?? Oh my god, sorry! I saw you and I was like, what’re the chances!” 

 

“N-no, Takamaki-san. You,” He stopped to clear his throat. “You are… talking to the right man.” He couldn’t catch a break, could he? He pressed a hand to his forehead, looking back to see Ann Takamai’s blue eyes radiated with excitement, as if she’d just guessed right on a game show. No wonder Akira didn’t care enough to be starstruck when they’d met. This was the kind of company he kept. “I’m… My apologies for the condition I left your friend in. It was,” Goro cleared his throat. “Quite a night.” Goro couldn’t believe he found himself needed to explain his one night stand to a socialite model. In a green room. 

 

“Don’t worry about it! He gave you a five star review. What a charmer you are, no wonder you’re the Detective Prince.” She said, standing up and plopping down next to him, inviting herself into his space. Well. This was happening.

 

She elbowed him teasingly, a friendly aura radiating from her that was inviting but didn’t make dealing with this embarrassment any easier. 

Akira had enjoyed himself at least. Even if he left before Goro had a chance to check what their night had left on Akira’s skin. 

 

“Yes, well. He…. I don’t think Akira would appreciate us talking about this.” Goro huffed, straightening up as if he could will away the flush of his cheeks from talking about Akira.

 

“Oh, yesh, yeah you’re right. Sorry.” She said, laughing her own embarrassment off with a toss of her hair. Ann made it look so easy. “So. If you’re that Goro Akechi, does that mean you know Makoto? Makoto Nijima??”

 

“She’s my coworker, we were in the same classes at university.” Makoto wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but at least they were no longer on the topic of Akira. “How do you know her?” Goro asked, even more suspicious as Ann listed off more people he knew.

 

“She’s my girlfriend!” Ann announced proudly. For a moment, Goro was amazed. He wondered how she could be so casual in sharing that with him, especially since their sexualities could affect their public image.

 

But she did know of his sexality, given she had found out about Goro sleeping with her male friend within minutes of being in the same room as him.

 

And Makoto was a huge lesbian. Their being gay, along with being vampires who started on the force at a young age, a person would typically think Makoto and Goro got along well. That was very much not the case. But it had lead to them knowing things about one another simply through years of shared classes, shared occupation, shared lifestyles and shared mentors. The closest joining point was Sae Nijima, and tension sparked when trying to get Sae in her limited time.

 

“Is that so?” Goro asked, retucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Ann seemed harmless. And bad at keeping secrets. Ann stood in stark contrast to those she had been mentioning. 

 

“She’s a very respectable policewoman. Her diligence is to be admired.” Goro admitted, slipping into a trained cordial demeanor, voice taking a pleasant lilt as he decided Ann was not someone he would have to be cold with. She was dating Makoto afterall, and Goro could give credit where credit was due, Makoto had impeccable judgement. For how little the two saw eye to eye, there was no denying Makoto was skilled. Perhaps praising Ann’s girlfriend could make up for how he had nearly interrogated her. 

 

“I work with her sister more so than Makoto on a day to day basis, but the results she shows are undeniable.” He kept his praises professional, which was really the only way he had known Makoto. Maybe Makoto should be here instead as some Police Princess. Ann could coach her and Goro could go without getting asked about his hair care products. He would’ve laughed at the thought had he been alone.

 

“Jeez. You guys are so tense about each other.” Ann pointed out, finding the cracks in his overly formal analysis of Makoto with surprisingly good perception.

 

“I suppose you would know her grievances better than anybody else.” Goro said. “No sense in denying what’s already known. I wouldn’t call us friends. Yet you really know a lot about me for having just been caught taking photos. Am I often a speaking point amongst those you live with?” He asked.

 

“Heyyy, stop making me sound creepy.” She complained, still sounding utterly guilty as she swatted his arm. “You’re not! Not really. They’re not big gossips or anything. You’ve just been the name on everyone’s lips since Akira got home. Makoto figured it out pretty quick. You said so yourself, she gets results.” Ann toted. 

 

If Goro wasn’t embarrassed to know his coworker and somewhat rival now knew of his sex life, he would find Ann’s obvious affection for Makoto more endearing. Right now? It was yet another thing to be jealous of Makoto for having that he didn’t. Not only that, but her friendship with the man who had captivated Goro in one night?

 

How was he so unlucky to end up so alone?

 

“You know some amazing people, Takamaki-san...” His turning over his phone, glancing at notifications that weren’t there. They rarely were. Goro must have been really out of practice for TV. He only spared himself the second of self pity, but apparently that was enough. When he had caught Ann’s eyes again, there were thoughts spinning in her clear blue eyes, turning over Goro’s tone in her head. Ann picked up on the dejected sadness lingering past his distant showy smile without so much as a blink, her smile falling to a soft pout as their conversation paused.

 

Maybe she was just good at this from living with two very stoic people, or knew enough about people's public faces to spot what lingered just beneath. What a stupid slipup to make.

 

“Makoto told me things have been rough between the public and the police. Is that why you’re here? I know a damage control interview when I see one, trust me. People I work with say some suuuper stupid things on twitter all the time.” Ann asked a lot of questions, but he appreciated the break of silence. Well, if she was here she had made a career out of interacting with the media. It was no wonder she could read Goro’s situation one of the many tabloids she was featured in. 

 

“If people become uncooperative with the police, it’ll only make investigation harder than it has to be. Given my past, I’m the best candidate for repairing the public's confidence and dealing with the leading questions typically thrown around by news stations. Everyones on edge because of the surge in crime. It would be unwise to let reporters swarm around randomly. This way, there’s some direction to their attention. Wouldn’t want someone lashing out and spiraling out more distrust between the police and the people they protect.” Goro explained, falling back to his formalities. It was the simplest way to put it. The easiest way to explain how he’d been thrown to the vultures without sounding bitter.

 

“What a uniform response. You sound like I’m interviewing you.” Ann chided.

 

“To be blunt, I feel like I’m being interviewed. You have been asking me some rather personal questions.” Goro pointed out. Ann puffed her cheek out, hand running through her hair again as Goro reminded her of the rude introduction to this conversation he was cornered into.

 

“Sorry. I should’ve thought that one through. I got carried away. Hell, I hate it when people take pictures of me like that. Hmmm...” She apologized once more, shoulders scrunching up. Maybe this would bring an end to their one sided conversation.

 

But she did know Akira. And being that close to Makoto, Ann must know what Makoto was. Goro had stayed chronically single over the years to avoid the hard conversation of disclosing he was, in fact, a vampire. That was a detail he was never sure when or how to bring up, so he’d just avoided the situations that would bring him to it. Life was easier that way. 

But if Akira was in Makoto’s inner circle, did that mean...

 

“Perhaps we would both benefit from a second attempt at a first impression. Don’t you agree, Takamaki-san?” Goro held out a hand to complete that olive branch exchange. 

 

Ann snapped her fingers and Goro could practically see the light bulb flicker over her head, feet tapping and suddenly a lot less reserved in embarrassment.

 

“Yeah! Totally, I promise I won’t be weird this time.” She said, grabbing Goro’s hand with both of hers and giving a confident, energetic shake. “I’m Ann! Ann Takamaki! I can’t believe we haven’t already met if you work with Makoto! And then this hookup with Akira? I feel so out of the loop!” 

 

That made two of them.

 

“Goro Akechi. I’m a detective in the same unit as your girlfriend, though personal life is rarely discussed. I didn’t know she was seeing anybody.” Goro gave an easy smile, going off of Ann’s extroverted energy. “I must say, she’s truly living up to the Nijima legacy paved before her with all her hard work.”

A polite yet distant professional conversation to a coworker was something he knew how to talk his way around. 

 

Akira, on the other hand, he couldn’t even bring himself to agree on one thing about the man in his own head. 

 

From how readily Ann was willing to tell Goro about her relationship with Makoto, he could see her as the type to gush on about her significant other given the opening to, and that was what Goro was hoping would happen. 

 

Not that he had any particular like or dislike for Makoto- though things between them were chilly- he just didn’t have the proper ammunition to maneuver a discussion about Akira to one of his close friends. He barely knew the first thing about the man, aside from what he looked like under his clothes and his glasses were fake. Nor was Akira particularly active on social media, even in this age. Goro had run into a private Instagram account and would rather bite his thumb off than risk sending a request. Goro hadn’t even called yet. 

 

Yet. 

 

Was he really going to take Akira up on that number? 

 

“Hard works an understatement.” Ann sighed, wistful and longing of something already in her grasp. Voluminous hair cascaded past her shoulder and she fell against the back of the couch, abandoning the rigid posture she’d adapted to in her line of work.

 

“Trouble in paradise?” Goro asked, hands folding over his lap, satisfied at his successful divergence of talking about Akira. He wouldn’t mind playing armchair therapist for a few minutes if it meant avoiding unclear waters.

 

“She’s just busy. But you’d know that, everyone’s busy with that crazy drug going around. Isn’t that what you’re here to talk about? Everyone’s totally on edge about it.” Ann asked, twirling the unfastened belt of her short jacket around. “That Gold-B stuff. What a cheesy name.” Ann said, speaking lightly of what was at the heart of the spike of criminal activity. 

 

Of course she’d know something about it. Social media was half a model’s job and her girlfriend was spearheading the investigation. So Goro should’ve been expecting that to come up, but had been too caught up in skirting Akira talk that he had led himself into another delicate conversation. 

 

“Gold Blood. Calling it a problem alone feelings like an understatement.” Goro said, crossing one leg over another. “Though I’m not on that case, officially, so I wouldn’t know nearly as much as Nijima. I’ve been tasked with public relations as of now.” He tried not to sound bitter about it. 

 

“Why do they even call it that?” Ann asked. He could tell her just to watch the interview- but she had one of her own coming up, and that would be needlessly rude. If Makoto had been keeping Ann in the dark about what was soon to become public knowledge, why not divulge. Awkward start aside, it was nice to be approached in a genuine way.

  
  


“It’s said the effects of the drug are potent if the blood of someone already on it is consumed by another- making it unlike any other stimulant. That’s part of why it’s been so difficult to track down, the science behind it isn’t yet fully understood by our own research, and those under its effects are notoriously uncooperative. Haven’t even figured out if it’s from japan or overseas.” He put it delicately, speaking as if he were almost uncertain of the effects, as if he’d read it from a textbook and not seen it first hand. He raised a hand to his chin, looking off as his knowledge of Gold Blood played back in his head.

 

Those coming down from Gold-Bloods effects were worse than when they were on it. Violently so. Early in the drugs circulation, the police had made the mistake of holding multiple gold blood addicts in a single sober cell cleared out for them, waiting for the users to sober up for questioning.

 

It had become a massacre. Like a shrapnel bomb had gone off in that cell and painted every wall red, but what happened was far more gruesome and human than a weapon could ever do on its own. 

 

Goro had come in on the tail end of it, grappling with frenzied addicts alongside regular cops who could barely restrain the withdrawal induced insanity, struggling to keep their footing on the blood slick floor. He’d watched the footage of the incident in a crowded room an hour later, hair wet from washing blood out under a sink, rancid blood being mopped up across the building. That had been the time Goro learned it had the same chemical make up as the drug discovered in Kamoshida’s system during his autopsy. 

 

They’d made the mistake of assuming the withdrawal would be incapacitating, for desperation did awful things. Watching one heavy user tear at another in the cell with his finger nails, searching for that second hand potency that GB had become notorious for. It had set the other two off, all tearing into one poor man, ripping at skin and arteries. He’d stopped being human and just became another high, where the only price to pay for themselves was their friends life and any semblance of humanity. 

 

The man who’d been attacked didn’t make it. To say they were scraping him off the walls was no exaggeration. 

 

That incident had played a hand in Goro’s self appointed fasting. It horrified him that he might resemble one of those manic addicts in the cell that day, and the many more to follow as the drug boomed in popularity.  

 

They’d learned the hard way to keep those in withdrawal of GB in separate, isolated cells, making containment all the more difficult. 

 

If that was what Makoto had been keeping from her bright and cheery girlfriend, Goro couldn’t blame her. It certainly wasn’t something Goro would share with Ann, let alone in an interview. 

 

He must’ve been unresponsive for longer than anticipated.

 

“Hello?? Earth to Akechi, Goro Akechi.”  Ann snapped her fingers in front of his face, vibrant red nails flicking in front of him to bring the detective back to the present. “Hey, are you okay? Did you like, eat at all before this?” Ann asked once she had gotten his attention.

 

“Oh— my apologies, I must’ve been lost in thought.” Goro smoothing out the creases in his brow into an expression engaged and mild. He smiled. Ann, a master of constructed expressions, wasn’t buying it.

 

“You still didn’t answer my question. Aren’t cops supposed to have like, donuts on deck and stuff? Do you get breakfast for all the crime busting you do or is that just in movies?”

 

“American movies, to be more precise. So no, we aren’t supplied with any photogenic pink frosting.” He said, still not answering Ann’s question. She has noticed as much once again.

 

“You’re not fooling me, I see that look on Mako all the time. You skipped breakfast! How’re you gonna show up on TV on an empty stomach! Are you new to this??” Ann scolded. “Zoning out on camera is a bad look, y’know, I bet you need more sodium.” She pointed in his face, making him lean back to reclaim some personal space.

 

Goro looked at her like she was speaking another language. At that moment he knew she must have certainly been a friend of Akira. She, too, was bold with someone she just met, even if they’d both knew similar people-

 

“Hey, go to lunch with me after this!” Ann stated more than asked. 

 

“What?” Goro asked, unprepared for that. “Go to lunch?” He restated. 

 

“Yeah! Why not? You’re Akira’s friend-“ when had he ever said that. “And if you’re anything like Makoto then you’re at the police station doing over time 

the time, so grab a bite before you head back. My treat!” 

 

Goro squinted at her.

 

“Is this to make up for those sneak shots you were taking? Are you trying to make sure I don’t mention it to your girlfriend.” He accused in jest.

 

Ann balked. Her appalled expression was funny enough to get Goro to agree.

 

“Sure. It’ll help be an excuse to turn down any overtime questioning.” And a chance to learn more about Akira. He was reluctant to admit how under informed he was about the man who knew that Goro’s teeth weren’t just for show, and if Akira knew Makoto as well, then…

 

“Ann Takamaki?” A soft spoken woman in a headset and clipboard in hand ducked her head into the green room. “You’re up in a few minutes, mind coming with me?” 

 

“Not at all!” Ann said, standing up and grabbing her purse. Goro was about to say they had no means of contacting each other before Ann pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to Goro. This must’ve been commonplace for her. “Hit me up when you’re done, I know this great little coffee place, best curry you’ll ever have!” She said, stepping backwards toward the door as Goro looked over the red and white business card, showing her full name, email, and number. When he looked up next she was gone with a wave and a click of the door.

 

The detective sat there in silence for a moment, taking in the encounter he’d just had. Was there something in his horoscope about meeting new people?

 

Goro looked back at his phone, greeted by Ann Takamaki’s Instagram page. She was verified and everything, quite a milestone for a socialite and not enough to make Goro solidify his decision of spending time with her. She was friendly but that could be a facade, and he wasn’t yet over how she had taken a sneak shot of him before even saying hi. Technically he’d already agreed, but they were both busy people, and canceling wouldn’t be questioned.

 

A red ring encapsulated her profile picture. Goro clicked on it. He might as well get a feel for the type of person he was dealing with. The last thing he needed was a socialite chasing clout, even if she was being honest on knowing Akira and Makoto. 

 

The first post was called ‘fit check’. An outfit of the day video where she dramatically knelt in front of a mirror to the beat drop of some pop song, exposing the entire outfit in a dramatic flair. The red mini jacket was a really nice piece.

 

Before a curtain of immaculate blond hair took up more than half the mirror, he caught a glimpse of something. Someone. 

Makoto Nijima stepped cautiously past Ann in frame, shoes in one hand and phone in the other, dressed in the clothes she had shown up for work that morning. The background further held a dresser and the edge of a bed. A single bed. A shared bedroom.

So that checked out.

 

A glimmer of respect shined through. She was brave enough to show her same sex relationship and held no shame or hesitation. Society was far more accepting than it had once been, hell, even 5 years ago. The nation wide legalization of same sex marriage had aided tremendously in it, city after city recognizing its legitimacy until every corner of japan had reached the same conclusion. 

 

Makoto never talked of her personal life at work, and he was envious of her for the privilege of privacy she had, for now the allure of Goro’s personal life leaked into his work.

But that was a thought for later.

 

The second story post was a simple fanart share that Ann had done. A fan of hers had drawn the model in a stylized likeness, posing like a sailor moon character, a pink gif saying “girl power” in English floating bubbly on the corner of the photo.

 

The last post made his heart leap. It was just a cat. At first. A noisy cat perched on someone’s shoulder, a finger from behind the camera pointing at it, leading up to a scratch behind the cat's ears as it loudly meows for attention. It wasn’t Makoto the cat was perched on. 

 

Messy black hair and pale skin, a gooseneck kettle frozen in place as he clutched it to offer balance for that cat. 

 

“Mona cam?” Akira said in a voice telling of sleep, peering over the cat to the camera. Those eyes. Those grey eyes that held so many secrets but knew all of yours. Cat ears popped up over his head when the filter registered his face. 

 

“Mona cam!” Ann said, getting a chirp from the cat. And then the video stopped, and he was back to looking at Ann Takamaki’s Instagram page. Goro closed the app, shutting the screen off and sliding his phone into his pocket. All extra measures to make sure he resisted looking back at that video and the glimpses of Akira it offered. It hadn’t shown his neck, completely blocked off by the black and white cat, and Goro could feel himself obsessing over that detail.

 

So Ann was, by all accounts, telling the truth. Her earnest wasn’t a falsehood, as of now, that was what he could tell. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. And if he needed to get his public face back, then that was just another benefit of their meeting. 

 

Goro tried to think of it in terms of pros and cons, because that way, he could better deny interest. Could better deny the time he’d invested thinking of Akira. Could deny how Ann’s invitation had made him happy, knowing he wouldn’t be alone for lunch and now had someone who could sympathize in his woes of being a public figure. 

 

He would also deny hoping that this chance encounter with Ann meant that a future meeting with Akira was fated. 

 

Fate. Justice. How pretty. How naive. 


End file.
